The Elf and the Dragon
by NIallR
Summary: A retelling of the events of Skyrim in the format of a journal. Tirisi Tilvur is a dunmer, who became famous in the Empire as the Champion of Cyrodiil. Two Hundred years later, he's a bitter vampire who lives for fighting and travelling; captured on his way into Skyrim and embroiled in the return of the dragons. Come along for his story, through the MQ, Dawnguard and Dragonborn!
1. Chapter 1

**Seventeenth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

After crossing the border into Skyrim, I was captured by the Empire and taken to a town that was apparently called Helgen; whilst I was on the executioner's block, a dragon attacked! I managed to escape in the ensuing chaos. Perhaps foolishly, I had always assumed dragons to be a myth, or at least an exaggeration. The presence of one would indicate more, and their return cannot be a harbinger of anything promising.

Reached a small village called Riverwood, where I stayed the night.

* * *

**Eighteenth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I left Riverwood for the city of Whiterun, with the intent of informing the Jarl of what I'd seen in Helgen; upon doing so, I was hired by the Jarl to delve into an Nordic barrow and retrieve a "dragon stone" artifact for his court wizard. This should, presumably forward some line of investigation as to the reappearance of the dragons.

I also accepted the offer of work from a redguard by the name of Amren. He wanted me to get his family's sword from a group of bandits; I've done this, but have yet to return to him.

It would seem that my initial concern regarding the return of the dragons was more than was due. I've not encountered any more of them, and were they as large a concern as I had assigned them, I would have. Perhaps it is only one dragon, in which case there should be no real problem. Given that it survived attacking Helgen, it must be a formidable foe, though it cannot be invincible.

* * *

**Nineteenth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I headed up to Bleak Falls Barrow, the road rapidly became treacherous as I made my way up the mountain; snow and ice are harsh masters. I had a little trouble with bandits that had assumed residence of some ruins on the way up to the barrow (perhaps a watchtower?), though they were soon dispatched. Alas, a group of hired thugs approached me as I made my final approach to the barrow, claiming that they were here to "teach me a lesson". Clearly I have angered someone, though I do not know who. These were not your standard mercenaries; I had to flee rather than fight them, it is a shame that so much of my equipment was lost during my capture, I doubt, also, that I will have time to return to Cyrodiil to retrieve more. Even if I did return to Cyrodiil, there's no guarantee that I wouldn't simply get captured on my way back into Skyrim; I doubt very much that a dragon would save me a second time.

Delving further into the barrow, I encountered Nordic dead rising from their crypts. Such a thing is not wholly unknown (arguably common when mages are involved), though they had swordsmanship to rival the bandits I had dispatched earlier. Clearly these are not the same zombies and necromancer-wrought undead as I have encountered elsewhere.

I retrieved the dragon stone, though I shall have to spend the night in the barrow. Hopefully there will be a second way out; there often is in these tombs, though one dreads to ask why there is a way out at all.

* * *

**Twentieth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I've turned the dragon stone in to the Jarl's court wizard, and Amren's sword to him. I was taken into a meeting with the Jarl, and asked to go and assist the city guard with a dragon that had been sighted to the west of the city; upon felling the beast (which was no mean feat, though we did number in the dozens), its skin withered and some form of energy flowed into me. I'm sure I've been imbued with some manner of magic, though I daren't contemplate exactly what. On the way back to Whiterun, the ground shook and a thundering voice shouted "DO-VAH-KIIN". This and the "energy" cannot be unrelated.

I have been currying favor with the Jarl, Balgruuf, and I am now able to buy property in the city, due to my new status as Thane. I doubt very much that I will exercise this ability, however. I don't think I have ever purchased a residence.

* * *

**Twenty first of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I met with the Jarl again, and he offered the explanation that I was dragonborn; that the energy flowing into my body from the dragon was me absorbing its soul and that the booming voice that I heard was that of the Greybeards summoning me to their monastery on the peak of a nearby mountain. It would seem that legends of "dragonborn" are fairly common in Skyrim; indeed, they're fairly common elsewhere, I have heard the term used to describe the late Septim Dynasty, and the Nerevarine. That said, these legends seem to be both more like common beliefs than myths here.

The Jarl directed me to their monastery, and I set off for it. It is at the peak of "the Throat of the World", which I have heard to be the tallest mountain in Tamriel.

* * *

**Twenty Third of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I arrived at Ivarstead, a town at the base of the "Seven Thousand Steps" (I confess that I'm half tempted to count) up to the Greybeards' monastery. Rather than embark immediately (I have heard it is a trek to be reckoned with), I remained in town and dealt with their "haunted barrow" problem. It was little more than some mage playing trickster, but it paid well enough. The local barkeep gave me a sapphire dragon claw for my trouble; I used a similar one in Bleak Falls Barrow to open a door. This should serve a similar purpose elsewhere.

These claws are curious things. Taking the one I found and used in Bleak Falls as an indicator of the purpose of the rest of them, they seem to be keys, with the solution to a combination locked door that can be found within its corresponding barrow.

* * *

**Twenty Fourth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made it to High Hrothgar, despite the path being as difficult as could be expected. The weather changed in an instant, forcing me to abandon my (admittedly pathetic) leather armour for a warmer set of robes, which provided protection against nought but the wind, and even then I was chilled to the bone, and I say this as a vampire. As I approached the monastery, a dragon attacked me, the only one I've seen since the Whiterun watchtower. The fight was a hard one, given my utter lack of armour, though I eventually prevailed through use of cover, forcing the beast to land. Alas, I did not fare so well against a troll lurking further up the mountain, from which I had to flee. There's a perverse humour in the notion of a dragon being a less formidable enemy than something as mundane as a troll; but that's just how they are. That said, this troll seemed much stronger than those I encountered in Cyrodiil. I'm sure this is entirely down to its environment, which sadly means I am sure to encounter more of them.

The greybeards were hospitable enough; they explained to me that I am Dragonborn, a mortal with the soul of a dragon, not unlike the Septims of old (divine irony if ever there was such a thing. Was I dragonborn when I was struggling to rescue Martin from Kvatch? If so, I could very easily have simply lit the dragonfires myself and ended the crisis before it began.). As such, I am uniquely gifted at learning to fight as dragons do, with their voices. This is powerful magic indeed, though limited in its uses. They have asked me to retrieve the horn of Jürgen Windcaller from Ustengrav to prove my abilities.

Hopefully the weather will be better as I make my way back down the mountain, though I feel that hoping for good weather in Skyrim is like hoping for Clavicus Vile to honour a deal, the very definition of a fool's hope.


	2. Chapter 2

**Twenty Fifth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I headed back down the mountain, and managed to avoid the troll again, I will be making at least one more journey up this mountain and I very much intend to kill the damn thing next time.

I was caught in a blizzard as I passed through the valley beneath the mountain, though made it back to Riverwood before nightfall and stayed there overnight.

I'm unsure as to how to progress now. The trek to Ustengrav will be long, but not necessarily arduous, and I need to do it at some point. Despite that I think I shall stay in Whiterun for a little while, then head out. I may have to invest in some considerably warmer armour, or perhaps simply some padding for that armour which I already possess.

* * *

**Twenty Seventh of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I've spent the last day or so practicing my blacksmithing, such a skill may come in handy. With this newfound skill I have forged myself a long sword, in the same style as I used to wield my youth, an old moonstone one. Alas, no shop in Whiterun seems able to supply me with clothing that one would expect to be commonplace; that being clothing that is warm and reasonably tough. These Nords are far too accustomed to such dreadful cold, though the same can be said for the non-Nordic denizens of Skyrim. At least the khajit have an excuse for putting up with this weather, with their fur. Come to think of it, though, I'm sure that same fur makes the deserts of Elsweyr hellish.

Rather than trek on foot to Ustengrav, I elected to take a carriage to Morthal, a small hold capital that seemingly lies not far from my destination. I shall walk from there. Upon arrival, I was greeted by another dragon, though this was a much easier fight that that on the mountain, due mainly to the entirety of the Morthal guard joining the fight.

* * *

**Twenty Eighth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I left Morthal for Ustengrav, and found it to be inhabited by bandits and necromancers, such pests as seem to infest every minor ruin. Upon reaching the horn (or rather, where the horn should have been), I encountered a note left by someone who had beaten me to it (how exactly they managed to reach it is an interesting question, given that I had to utilise the techniques that the Greybeards taught me more than once), telling me to rent a particular room in the Sleeping Giant Inn, back in Riverwood. This has become a wild goose chase, I'm sure of it. Someone is playing games, and the list of suspects is frustratingly long. Regardless, I encountered a Nord by the name of Benor, who has requested he be allowed to join me in my travels. I believe he could be useful in a fight. He certainly looks that way.

* * *

**Twenty Ninth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I walked to Solitude from Morthal, to take a carriage back to Whiterun in the morning. Benor is a quiet man, seemingly happy to simply do as he is told. There's little else to say about him, he seems like a stereotypical Nord; big, stoic and seemingly dumb as a bag of hammers; this is fine, however, I did not recruit him for conversation, I recruited him for the extra brawn.

* * *

**Thirtieth of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Took a carriage to Whiterun, had a minor run in with the guards. They evidently don't take to kindly to my liberating an apple from a stall in the market. I had myself a set of elven armour forged; it is superior is most every way to my previous, leather garments, given that it provides protection against both the weather and arms, even if it does hold that stigma of being associated with the Thalmor.

Altmeri armour is vastly superior to other amours in Tamriel, while expensive and hard to smith, it is fantastically strong for its weight, rivaled only by mithril, of which there does not seem to be any in Skyrim.

* * *

**Thirty First of Last Seed, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Much has happened today, I shall attempt to condense it so that it may fit upon this page.

I met up with the woman (Delphine) who had taken the horn of Jürgen Windcaller from its pedestal before I could. She gave it to me, and asked me many questions. Eventually, it came down to her wanting to know if I truly were dragonborn (a question she shares with the Greybeards), and so we set off for Kynesgrove, where she had discovered, through some mystical means, that a dragon would be resurrected. There we encountered the same, black, dragon which had attacked Helgen, and a second, freshly resurrected. The first fled, leaving the second to attack us. We (Benor, Delphine and I) dispatched the beast with little issue. Perhaps the beast was simply weak from its long slumber.

Delphine claims to be a member of the blades. While such a thing is possible, I have difficulty believing it, I recall the blades requiring each agent to have been handpicked by another from the Imperial Legion; I've seen people handle a sword far better, and she doesn't seem to be as intelligent as I would imagine would be expected. She seems to believe that the Thalmor are behind the dragons returning, though how they would have a hand in this is not something I can imagine, but in the lack of any other leads, I shall humour her

* * *

**First Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I walked from Kynesgrove back to Ivarstead. Had to stop a mile or two away from the village to make camp, but I should make it in time to make the journey to High Hrothgar tomorrow, whereupon I will give the horn to the Greybeards.

* * *

**Second Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made the trek up to High Hrothgar and gave the horn of Jürgen Windcaller to the greybeards. As such they formally recognised me as dragon born, and taught me more of the Voice. I maintain that this magic is limited in its uses, though they seem to insist on teaching it to me, as though they anticipate it replacing my sword.

* * *

**Third Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I walked down from High Hrothgar, through Ivarstead to Helgen. I'll meet up with Delphine in Riverwood tomorrow.

Helgen was inhabited by a bandit troupe. They were not insignificant, in that they numbered in the dozens. Fortunately, Benor and I were more than a match for them. By forcing them to engage us in the narrow passages of the ruined buildings, we could fight them in single file. This greatly improves my confidence in Benor's abilities. He shows a surprising amount of intellect while fighting, whether or not that intellect carries over outside of battle is immaterial.

* * *

**Fourth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made it to Riverwood and spoke to Delphine. We now have a plan to get me into the Thalmor embassy in Skyrim. This should, if nothing else, eliminate the Thalmor as the reason behind the dragons returning. I'm to meet a contact of hers in Solitude, who will fill me in with the specific details; he should be waiting in an inn called the Winking Skeever.

Rather than stay in Riverwood for the night, I pressed on to Whiterun, where I will stay before catching a carriage out to Solitude.

I resent the fact that I'm required to put myself in jeopardy to this degree, in what is certainly a fool's errand. Regardless, there is no way beyond this to eliminate the Thalmor as suspects, even if why we suspect them at all is a mystery to me.


	3. Chapter 3

**Sixth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

The plan to get me into the Thalmor embassy succeeded, and my suspicions were confirmed; the Thalmor have absolutely nothing to do with the dragons and seemed to be under the impression that the Blades were the ones to blame. Were it not for the fact that one is an empire and the other is a group (used to be a group, anyway) of warriors, I would liken the two factions to children squabbling in a tavern.

However, there were problems as soon as I began to make my escape. They realised that I was not, in fact an agent of theirs (I'm amazed that my disguise lasted as long as it did, frankly. I don't resemble an altmer in anything other than the shape of my ears) and captured my contact, forcing me to kill a few of their guards.

After reaching Solitude I was greeted by a group of guards who seemed to think I would either fight them or surrender (the speed at which the Solitude guard were alarmed is truly remarkable). I ran from Solitude to Dawnstar, across the northern coast of Skyrim, whereupon I rested and hid. The taigas of Skyrim look as though they would be difficult to hide in, and there's a modicum of truth in that. It is indeed hard to break line of sight when you're fleeing over a flat, white, landscape while wearing clothing that can only be described as conspicuous; really, however, it is more a matter of having the stamina and determination to keep running from your pursuer. The wind and snow will tire any man quickly, and once your pursuer ceases pursuing you, there's no need to continue fleeing.

Nonetheless, I got the information that Delphine wanted. As I said, the Thalmor believe the blades to be behind the dragons returning. Obviously then, neither side is responsible. In addition, I found a dossier regarding the civil war; the Thalmor wish the war to continue for as long as possible, presumably so that they have an easier time conquering Skyrim when the time comes. This doesn't surprise me, and I remain ambivalent regarding the entire thing, though I'm sure it will cause me some problems. Politics find a way to hinder everything.

* * *

**Seventh Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made it to Riverwood and spoke with Delphine. I neglected to point out that I had been correct all along.

Amongst the dossiers that I acquired was one which mentioned that the Thalmor are after a man called Esbern, another member of the blades, who they believe to be hiding out in Riften's sewers. I'm heading there to "visit" him now. Delphine was surprised to hear that he may still live, apparently she had expected him to have perished during the Great War, during the sacking of Cloud Ruler Temple. Why any agent would have remained there as they saw the Imperial City burn is beyond me; I feel as though I should refer to my previous comments regarding her intellect.

I feel as though by the end of this campaign against the dragons (if it can even be called a campaign, the extent of our actions so far seems to be some mockery of an identity parade) will leave no place in Skyrim unvisited by me, a notion I do not enjoy entertaining, the less travelling I must do, the better.

I am unsure about Benor's health, or more specifically his resistance to this cold. He is a Nord, though we have been trekking through snow all day for the past two. His armour is far less padded or substantial than mine, and he does not seem like the type to complain, leading me to think that maybe he could be suffering, but choosing not to say. I may have to buy him something with fur lining.

* * *

**Eighth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made it to Riften and found the city rank with poverty, more so than Bravil in Cyrodiil, though at least one can walk around Riften without tripping over skooma fiends. Despite the minute respite provided by the meadery, I find this place revolting. I shall make every effort to leave as soon as I am able, and to not return. Despite this, the "Rat way", where the lowest of the low here in Riften live can only be worse. How people could live in conditions worse than this is a mystery to me for now, as is how exactly someone could arrive in that kind of financial pit. Sadly, as much as I would love to never discover the answer to these questions, I'm afraid that they will have to be answered soon.

* * *

**Ninth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I entered the rat way and found Esbern. It was as disgusting as expected; it's a pity that I can say that the sewers of the Imperial City, a city a hundred times the size of this one, were far less repulsive.

I had to fight my way through numerous Thalmor soldiers, they must have realised Esbern would be our next port of call, given the dossiers we took. After retrieving him and his most important belongings (irritatingly, "most important" seemed to encompass everything but the walls of his quarters), we mercifully left the city, and are heading back to Riverwood with full haste. Whether we're moving so quickly because of the nature of the town we're leaving or because of the fear of being pursued by Thalmor agents is a matter for debate.

* * *

**Tenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I got Esbern to Delphine in one piece; and according to him, our next step is to find "Alduin's wall", an ancient akaviri sculpture, which contains all the ancient blades' knowledge about the large black dragon, Alduin and his return. It sounds far too good to be true.

Regardless, Esbern believes it to be located in Karthspire, in the Reach.

I feel that time is running short. Alduin has been at large for almost a month, and we still have no clue as to how to defeat him, though hopefully this "Alduin's wall" will relinquish some knowledge that can be used to our advantage, unlike everything else we've done so far.

Apparently this Alduin, the dragon which attacked Helgen, is some kind of half-deity. Related to Akatosh (obviously, I suppose, given that he's a dragon) and who's duty it is to end the world. All in all, things look grim.

* * *

**Twelfth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I met up with Esbern and Delphine at the old blades' fortress of Sky Haven Temple, where we discovered Alduin's wall. After studying it, Esbern came to the conclusion that Alduin was defeated by a shout, like those the Greybeards have insisted on teaching me at every opportunity. None of us had any ideas as to what that shout may have been, so me and Benor will be heading back up to the Greybeards at the soonest opportunity.

I recognise that I was wrong about the Voice serving no purpose, though I do retain the sentiment that it is something of a one trick pony. I doubt I will find a use beyond using it to battle dragons. Regardless, it would appear that the Blades have no love for the Greybeards. I hope that this doesn't lead to unpleasant confrontations, though I'm sure it will; the hubris of both is tangible. I'm reminded of the relation that the Blades and the Thalmor seem to have.

Given their evidently antagonistic nature, perhaps I shouldn't have sided with the blades!

* * *

**Thirteenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I stopped a mile or so outside Whiterun to make camp and rest. It seems sometimes that even the weather objects to our campaign against Alduin.

I have neglected to speak about Benor in any detail in this journal since he joined me, for reasons I am unsure of. He seems to do his job so well that I hardly notice him, which is undoubtedly a good thing. I spoke to him a little in camp, wondering how he felt about all that was happening. Remarkably, it would seem that he has no concern for his own wellbeing, and is more than happy to merely follow and fight when he's needed. He's a nord through and through I suppose.

I think the only reason my people never enslaved the nords to the same degree that they did the khajit and the argonians is that we simply couldn't establish a good enough foothold in Skyrim. With the right conditioning, a nord would make a fine slave. He'd never say anything, and he'd take up arms in a moment.


	4. Chapter 4

**Fifteenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I travelled up to High Hrothgar and spoke to the Greybeards. They seemed angry that I had been consorting with the blades, and initially refused to help me further, but soon realised it was not their decision as to whether or not they would help me find the shout that had been used to best Alduin, but rather the decision of their leader, a dragon named Parthurnax, who resides at the summit of the mountain, I had not expected him to be a dragon, though this makes sense. Dragons are, by definition, the best at shouting.

We spoke long into the night, and he told me that I could possibly learn the shout that was used to defeat Alduin from those who made it; by using an elder scroll to peer back into time, to the moment of Alduin's defeat.

Alas, Parthurnax had no idea where I could find an elder scroll. Perhaps one of the greybeards will know; if not, there must be a collection of mages in Skyrim somewhere, similar to the mages guild of old.

* * *

**Sixteenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

The greybeards also had no idea as to where I could find and Elder Scroll, though they did know that there's a mages' college in Winterhold, to the north. I think this is my best bet for finding one or, at least for learning where one might be. If they have an elder scroll in the college (which I doubt), I'm sure they'll refuse to relinquish it to me. Mages can be difficult like that.

* * *

**Seventeenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I made it to Windhelm, home of the Stormcloaks and by extension, the childish rebellion they've spawned. I was tempted to pay a visit to Jarl Ulfric, though I doubt I would be received well, for one reason or another. I should make it to Winterhold tomorrow.

For a city which has spawned a rebellion sufficient enough to justify the empire declaring war, Windhelm is terrible. I couldn't find a single flagstone that wasn't broken into several pieces, and there appeared to be an entire district (a markedly poorer one, at that) that only housed dunmer. I'm sure this is not a coincidence; nords will hate anything that the man with the biggest hammer tells them to, and I'm sure Ulfric has a _very _big hammer.

* * *

**Eighteenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

According to the librarian at the Mage's College, the closest thing to an expert that Skyrim had on the elder scrolls (or indeed on anything, I find the notion of particularly rich scholarly heritage in this godsforsaken wasteland laughable) claimed to have found some dwemer artifact, and left for the ice fields which border the Sea of Ghosts north of Winterhold. With any luck I will find this Septimus or his research tomorrow. With that I will hope to find a scroll; if not, there will just have to be more investigation.

* * *

**Nineteenth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I found Septimus in the ice fields, and he told me that an elder scroll might yet exist in a dwemer ruin called Blackreach. I've not much experience with dwemer ruins, though I've heard they are at least are deadly as the Ayeleid ruins in Cyrodiil, a theory I look forward to testing. Those ruins were always strangely enjoyable.

The ruin lies to the south; I am heading there as I write this, and one can hear the glaciers crumbling under their own weight; I haven't seen a proper, paved path for days. The realisation that Skyrim itself is just as deadly as any of its inhabitants struck me when I encountered a mammoth encased in ice. Quite how that occurred, I cannot imagine, but it was a harrowing sight.

* * *

**Twenty First Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I found the elder scroll after blundering around Blackreach for almost a day. The title of Blackreach is accurate. Even my vampirisim enhanced eyes often struggled to make out crucial details in the pitch dark of the abandoned city. Nonetheless, I found it, and have been walking tirelessly to return to the throat of the world.

I feel as though I should talk about the ruin where the scroll had lain for so long, though in truth there's little to say about it. It was impressive, but the darkness made it damn near impossible to discern anything beyond rough shapes for the vast majority of the structures.

There was a portion of the ruin (if indeed it can fairly be called that, it was more of a cave that had been built within) that housed huge glowing mushroom and other curiosities.

* * *

**Twenty Third Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

After reading the Elder Scroll atop the Throat of the World, I have learned the shout used by the ancient nords to defeat Alduin, though not, I would point out, permanently.

Alduin himself reappeared as I returned to the present, and though he was defeated by me and Parthurnax, he fled before we could deal the final blow. A pattern that I'm sure will repeat itself time and time again, now that he knows I'm powerful enough to fight him, and have the tools required to defeat him.

We've decided that the only way to discover to where he fled is to find a dragon that is in league with Alduin and force him to tell us. To that end we intend to use the Jarl's palace, Dragonsreach, in Whiterun to capture one. Apparently it was built for that purpose back before dragons disappeared, hence the name, I suppose.

* * *

**Twenty Fourth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Jarl Balgruuf of Whiterun was unwilling to help us while the civil war posed a threat to the city (as if it poses a threat to anyone or anything other than the people who take part in it). I must negotiate a peace between the Stormcloaks and the Empire before we may use Dragonsreach.

Such a truce will no doubt be difficult to negotiate; as both sides have made it abundantly clear that they are more interested in fighting that paying attention to what is happening beyond their quarrels. I must also persuade the Greybeards to hold the council.

I am not looking forward to this. It will be a travesty of both a negotiation and a travesty of communication.

* * *

**Twenty Fifth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

We left Whiterun for Ivarstead. While in Riverwood I purchased a pair of cloaks for myself and Benor, crimson for myself, white for him, which should keep the cold out slightly better. We made camp in the ruins of Helgen.

* * *

**Twenty Sixth Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

We made the trek to High Hrothgar, and persuaded the Greybeards to hold the peace council, now I must travel back down the mountain to persuade both Ulfric Stormcloak and General Tullius of the Imperial Legion to partake in this.

* * *

**Twenty Seventh Heartfire, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

We reached Windhelm and persuaded Jarl Ulfric to take part in the council; however he will only do so if Tullius himself turns up. Judging by the amount of persuasion required to make him to agree to show up; I have no doubts as to the negotiations immense difficulty. He seems to be under the impression that he will be able to use this as an excuse to gain more land.

I've said it before, but it bears saying again. Nothing will be achieved at this council that will last the fortnight. Thankfully, however I will be able to wash my hands of the entire childish thing soon.

* * *

**Sixth Frostfall, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

As I had expected, upon reaching Haafingar's border, I was arrested and imprisoned for a short spell due to my actions at the Thalmor Embassy, the sentence was much lower than I expected. Nonetheless, Tullius agreed to speak with me then agreed to meet at High Hrothgar for the council, he required far less persuasion than Ulfric. Something that is not surprising in the slightest. I'm sure Ulfric requires a diplomat to persuade him to put clothes on in the morning, moron as he is. Now I simply have to arrive myself. What a pity.

It strikes me that at least Tullius wants to deal with the dragons, but is unwilling to assist in any meaningful way, as doing so would allow the Stormcloaks to advance, an opinion I understand.


	5. Chapter 5

**Twenty Second Frostfall, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Benor returned to Whiterun this morning, with my armour. It was almost as I remembered, though it lacked two centuries' worth of polish and maintenance. Its gold trim is just as imposing as ever, and, combined with the ludicrous amount of ebony that makes it up, I could see it turn many a head as I left Whiterun. Unsurprisingly, no bandits decided to fight us on our way up the Throat of the World.

A local blacksmith and I were able to restore it in due time, and come tomorrow we will assault Alduin in his only remaining hiding place, which Parthurnax seems to believe is Sovngarde, or Aetherius.

Trapping a subordinate of Alduin's was surprisingly easy. My shout forced him to land, and drawing him into the harness that we'd set up was a simple matter of retreating.

**Twenty Third Frostfall, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

It is done. Alduin; the worm, the devourer of worlds has been defeated.

The battle was arduous, both Alduin himself and his minions before him were formidable adversaries. In his death throes, Alduin lashed out and wounded my sword arm, I think it may be a while before I can take up arms in any meaningful way again.

I had hoped to bring Benor with me to Aetherius, though the dragon we captured (Odahviin) refused to allow another to fly with him to Alduin's portal. Nonetheless, I will ensure that he receives the honors he deserves; hopefully history will recall him rather than me.

As it stands I am faced with the necessity of anonymity, it will not take long for people to notice my lack of aging if I remain in the public eye. Despite this, I still have time to spend in Skyrim; yet I wonder where I will go next. Hammerfell, perhaps? Or Elsweyr? I heard that the Nerevarine set off for Akavir not long before the Oblivion Crisis; perhaps that would be a suitable destination for me also.

Whatever I choose, I hope that the Gods have reached the end of their meddling, though I hoped the same thing come the end of the Oblivion Crisis. I feel as though a great weight has been lifted from my shoulders.

**Thirtieth Frostfall, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Since my last entry, I've spent a lot of time on my blacksmithing. Running back and forth between the various towns for materials has led to me gaining more of an appreciation for Skyrim's landscape; while I saw a lot of the land during my campaign against Alduin, I was often more concerned with getting to where I had to be, than paying attention to the landscape around me.

I was granted a homestead in Rorikstead by Jarl Balgruuf, which is pleasant enough, as is Rorikstead itself. Despite being to technical lord of the town, I've yet to involve myself in the towns business in any meaningful way; after all, Rorik, the man for whom the town is named has been running it for years just fine.

The house itself is unique; it has obvious Whiterun architectural influences, although the lower level seems to be dwemeri in style. Regardless of its origins, I have set about filling the house with artefacts from my travels. Alas, a number of my most prized possessions are daedric in origin, and so are likely to have faded into Oblivion while lying in my residence in Cyrodiil, and a few will have re-entered Tamriel elsewhere, perhaps with new owners.

I recently travelled to Dawnstar and discovered that the town had been plagued by nightmares caused by Vaermina. A priest of Mara and I delved into her nearby temple and attempted to stop the nightmares by removing an artefact of hers, the Skull of Corruption.

I shan't recant every detail of the night, though the skull ended up in my possession, as did a rare tome, containing information regarding a potion that allows the imbiber to traverse distances in reality whilst in a dreamlike state, it should have its uses, though I doubt I'll use it much, if at all.

I have made it clear to Benor that I do not intend to continue my "adventures" in any meaningful sense of the word, and so there is little point in him joining me for every trip I make. He is; of course, welcome to stay with me at my estate, however. On that note, he and my servant, River, a redguard woman, get along particularlywell. Before long I doubt Benor will even want to come with me.

**Thirty First Frostfall, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Whilst exploring Falkreath hold, I came across a door, not unlike the one for the Cheydinhal sanctuary in Cyrodiil. Naturally the brotherhood has a presence in Skyrim, though I had not expected to encounter it so readily. It was not in plain sight, though one would expect it to be much more hidden.

I feel compelled to make contact, perhaps even join them, though that seems as though I'm going against my previous word about not having "adventures" any more.

**First Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I returned to Solitude today, with the intention of acquiring some materials for smithing, while I did exactly that, I was greeted by a bandit raid. The force was significant, at least 25 men, though the guards and I managed to fight them off. This being Solitude, the imperial legion was involved also. The bravery of these men is really very formidable. I would never dream of raiding a city like Solitude.

I was asked by Jarl Elisif to investigate some strange happenings in a cave near Dragon Bridge. I did so, and interrupted some kind of ritual, where necromancers were attempting to resurrect Potema, the wolf queen. I am not an expert in the history of this area, though it appears this is not something that anyone would want to happen.

**Second Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

After receiving my reward for ending the resurrection of Potema early, I was asked by the Jarl to take her late husband's war horn to a particular shrine of Talos, northwest of Whiterun. I agreed to do so.

I have been pondering about how I could feasibly contact the brotherhood. Simply waiting around the entrance is not a possibility; no assassin worth his salt would ever allow himself to be seen entering the sanctuary. Committing a murder is not feasible either, the brotherhood seems to be nothing but a shadow of its former self, perhaps down to my defection as listener, so I doubt they now have the magical means to detect murders in that way. I'll find a way.

**Third Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

With another day comes another errand to run for Jarl Elisif. This time I have to wipe out some vampires from a cave near to the city. They should pose no threat. The Jarl was grateful for my assistance regarding the shrine of Talos and her husband's war horn, and so I am now permitted to buy property within the city.


	6. Chapter 6

**Fifth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I cleared out the vampires from the cave, and was recompensed, alas, nothing particularly interested happened for the rest of the day.

**Seventeenth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

It has been some time since I last wrote in this journal, though that has had more to do with the lack of anything truly interesting happening. While I am content in Rorikstead, there is little in my days that would suitably fill these pages. Today, however, that changed. I visited Whiterun, as I do often, and was greeted by another bandit raid. While bandit raids are not unheard, of, this one was on a totally different level. There was a minimum of a hundred bandits, all of which were capable warriors.

Despite the scale of the incursion, the city guard and I managed to defeat them, though there was considerable damage to the city. I confess that I had not realized that something was wrong until I had initially passed by the city. In truth the sight was something that would, not be out of place if the Stormcloaks had decided to attack the city.

I am now home at Rorikstead.

**Twenty Fifth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Today, I fear, I have felt the first signs of age. I was deep under Skyrim, in the vast cavern fashioned by the Dwemer that I had described in this journal, as I was searching for the Elder Scroll. I confess that I'm unsure if I had mentioned the manner of mer that inhabit the seemingly abandoned deep dwemeri cities. I believe them to have once been the snow elves of myth, now twisted and deformed into beings unlike any I've seen in Tamriel. It was at their hands that I began to feel that my strength was failing, though I must explain an event which occurred prior to that fight first.

I was attacked by a dremora. At least, it wore the armour of a dremora, though it was half again my size, and wielded a mace that should have torn its arm from its socket when swung. It was a small mercy then, that the beast was slow enough for me to fell it before it could crush me. Upon its death, I took the club and found it to be lighter that my sword though it was much longer. It was that mace that I turned to when I had been all but defeated by the snow-elves; they had taken my sword and dagger from me, and my shield arm was too feeble to either bear my shield or grasp my claymore. So I clamoured for the mace, and swung wildly at the nearest elf. Though they appear blind, it seemed to know well enough the size of the weapon and though it dodged the first strike, it did not try to attack me again. My second strike connected, and though it was weaker than the first, the creature was sent flying back as though the mace were a ballista. That demonstration of power both strengthened my resolve, and by extension, my limbs, and seemed to terrify the elves. Most fled, though two more remained. The first was easily dispatched, as his comrade had been; a single strike was enough, though the second survived the blow, and the flight that came with it. It took a second, downward strike to bury its head into the bedrock, leaving no more than a bloodied neck in a small crater.

It was then that I was overwhelmed with the desire to feed. I had found myself in the wilderness because of starvation, and in this cavern to flee the sun. The sight of the blood on the rock was the straw that broke the mule's back, and I fed. Blood from corpses is never pleasant to drink, though that was one of the best feeds I'd ever had, it filled me with strength enough the find the beasts that had taken my sword and dagger, and crush them, and then to leave the cavern.

Whether I was overcome by this weakness because of my hunger, or because my arm has not yet healed, I do not know, though I will certainly attempt to feed more often from now.

**Twenty Sixth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

This mace is dangerous. I know not what god it is associated with, though I feel it is not of the Imperial pantheon. I have decided to avoid using it, but despite that decision, I've found myself turning to it rather than my bastard sword in fights. It is an artifact of immeasurable power, and should be destroyed or buried in a way which befits that danger; but it an artifact nonetheless, and one unlike any I've ever seen before. I confess that I'm finding it difficult to persuade myself to part with it.

As I progressed toward Whiterun, I was beset upon by a pair of dragons. These days dragons are no rare sight, but they are mostly solitary creatures, and to see two working together is worrying. I fled, and was pursued, to the northern watchtower, where the guards and I attempted to fend the beasts off. In desperation, I called upon Odahviin, the dragon I had enlisted in my campaign against Alduin, who came and rendered his assistance, which proved enough to fend the beasts off, though I had a hard time persuading to guards to stay and fight at the appearance of a third dragon. I cannot blame them for fearing it.

**Twenty Eight Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

It would appear that my anti-Thalmor actions have not gone unnoticed. I was beset upon by a group of five justiciars in the forests north-east of Rorikstead. The battle was easy enough, due to the dense foliage, and I found an execution order on one of the bodies. Fortunately, they do not have the permission of the local governance to kill me, and so I should be safe in cities and those towns with a reasonable guard contingent.

**Twenty Ninth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Dawnstar is gone. While there, a miner saw through my guise of humanity for a moment, and started screaming that I was a vampire. The townspeople attacked, and I was forced to defend myself. Numerous as they were, few were armoured, and most were on the verge of starving.

My vampirism is becoming a problem; I'm considering taking shelter from the one faction I've known to harbour vampires; the Dark Brotherhood. I've already heard rumours of a child in Windhelm performing the Black Sacrament; that would be a sensible place to start, though before I even consider strolling into that city; I need to acquire an Eastmarch guard's uniform.

**Thirtieth Sun's Dusk, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I acquired the uniform from a guard who was posted on the bridge which leads from the city, and with it, I made my way into the city and found the child that I was seeking. He mistook me for an agent of the Brotherhood, which is understandable; and I offered to carry out his contract for him, that being an old woman who ran the orphanage he had lived at. The orphanage in question is in Riften, and the contract should pose no difficulty.

**Second Evening Star, Two hundredth and First year of the Fourth Era**

The old woman is dead, all that remains to do to return to Windhelm and tell the boy that the contract has been completed. As for what will happen then, I do not know, perhaps the Brotherhood will have noticed my actions and will offer to take me in. If, as I suspect, they no longer have a way of detecting murders, or the Black Sacrament, then it is entirely possible that they will simply not hear of it.

**Seventh Evening Star, Two hundredth and First year of the Fourth Era**

While leaving Riften, I heard rumours of a vampire hunting cult known as the Dawnguard based nearby. I decided to investigate, and have made my way into the organisation. No real trickery on my part was required, so perhaps they know that I am a vampire and simply have yet to act upon that knowledge. Nonetheless, I have been told to search an old ruin, Dimhollow, with a vigilant of Stendarr. Such a task seems to be trivial, though I'll begin my travel there in the morning.

Interestingly, the leader of the Dawnguard told me to avoid sleep, upon inspection of their castle, it appears they do not have any sleeping quarters; it will be interesting to see if they truly do not sleep, and if they do not, how they do not.

**Eighth Evening Star, Two hundredth and First year of the Fourth Era**

Much has transpired in the past day. I left Fort Dawnguard for Dimhollow and once there, I found that the vigilant sent ahead of me had been murdered by some resident vampires. They attacked me on sight, and I was forced to fight through them until I reached a subterranean lake with a small, artificial island in the centre.

Some playing around with pedestals caused a sarcophagus to rise from the centre, which contained a woman that appears young, but who can know how long she has been in that cave, and for that matter, how long she's been a vampire. She came to life when exposed to the air. She immediately recognized me for a vampire, and asked me to ferry her to her home to the northwest of Skyrim. Ordinarily I would have refused, but she had an elder scroll with her, which intrigued me. She also wished to know how long she had been asleep, and attempted to judge that time by asking who the current High King was. When I mentioned the empire to her, she had no idea what I was talking about, even to the point of being surprised that Cyrodiil was the seat of power. This means she is older than the Septim Dynasty, making her at least 500 years old, though (and I am no historian) I am sure there were other Cyrodiilic empires prior to Tiber Septim's, making her probably even older than that.

When we reached her home, a rather stately castle in the sea of ghosts, we were greeted by a hall filled with vampires eating the flesh of men and mer. She spoke of her father, a man named Harkon who then spoke to me and offered to make me a vampire in return for returning his daughter to him; naturally I told him I already was, and he said:

"You have contracted a disease, but you are no vampire, take me up on my offer and you will soon learn the difference."

I accepted and Harkon transformed into a beast unlike I have ever seen, almost like a bat, but with legs and arms. He then took my head and fed upon me, something that I acknowledge I haven't experienced before. When Vincente gave me the gift all those years ago, he did so as I slept. It was not a pleasant experience.

When I awoke, I found myself in a locked room with him, and he explained to me how I might utilize my newfound powers. That which he didn't explain would come with time, apparently.

He has given me a task, along with permission to use the human cattle he has for feeding stock, though he seemed to infer that I would no longer rely on feeding as much as I had.

He gave me the task of taking a chalice to a font in the Rift and filling it.


	7. Chapter 7

**Ninth Evening Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

My task is complete. After having filled the chalice, a pair of vampires from the court attacked me; though they were too taken in by their own petty squabbles that I could strike them both down before they'd realised that they both planned to betray each other.

Harkon has ordered the court to search Skyrim for a Moth Priest, as he seems to believe that the elder scroll I found with Serana holds the secret to blotting out the sun forever, something which interests me, and presumably the other vampires immensely, though I realize that there are major issues with eliminating the sun. Agriculture would fail immediately and therefore as would everything else. I'm heading back to the college of Winterhold, and Serana has opted to join me again, it should not be as long of a journey as our previous, though it will still be a minimum of 2 days walk, and I'm unsure how she will feel about walking in the day. Regardless, I have learned to cope with it, and so I'm sure she will also.

**Twenty First Evening Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Once again, much has happened in the time I've abstained from writing in this journal. As with before, I will attempt to record it with as few omissions as possible.

In Winterhold, we spoke with the orc in charge of the Arcanum, who told us that there had indeed been rumours of a Moth Priest in Skyrim, and that he had last been sighted heading for Dragon Bridge, in Haafingar.

There, a guard pointed me toward the road south, saying that the priest had said he had intended to search there for the Scroll. On that road, I found the remains of a caravan and several corpses, a few of which belonged to the Dawnguard. Those bodies had notes upon them containing orders to capture the priest and take him to a cave some distance from the site of the attack. In that cave, we found the priest, being guarded by many Dawnguard, though myself and Serana were able to deal with them easily enough, despite the armoured troll they unleashed on us. I made the priest my thrall and ordered him to head to the Castle, and Serana and I returned shortly after he arrived.

The priest read the elder scroll and revealed that we required another to complete the prophecy. This also required Auriel's Bow. Harkon was angered by this revelation, saying that his wife, Serana's mother, had stolen away that scroll and we had to find her to find it. Serana then approached me and told me that she may know where to find her mother. Apparently she had told Serana that she would hide from Harkon in "a place he would never look". Serana took this to mean that she would be somewhere in the castle itself. We searched the ruined parts of the castle, and eventually discovered a room which contained Valercia's journals, which told of her efforts to create a portal to the Soul Cairn. In there, we found Valercia, freed her from her prison and enabled her to give us the elder scroll.

We then returned to the castle.

Upon that return, the moth priest informed me that, because he had no taken the correct precautions, he had lost his sight from reading the elder scroll, and thus I would need to read it by other means. He told me of a ritual that is performed by moth priests which is used to give the required insights to allow them to read the scrolls. The ritual should be performed in a particular glade, somewhat to the northeast of Falkreath.

**Twenty Fourth Evening Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

I confess, I'm beginning to have difficulty keeping track of the exactly what we're doing at times. Thankfully, Serana has been able to keep track where I have not. Something I'm thankful for.

Regardless, the moth priest's ritual was performed without issue. The scroll told me the location of the bow we were seeking, a cave in the west highlands of Haafingar.

In there we discovered one of the falmer as they used to be. Rather than the shrivelled, blind creatures they are now, he was as tall as any other mer and intelligent at least as a Nord. He told us that in order to get the bow, we'd need to perform a pilgrimage through the cave system to gain entrance to the ruin's "inner sanctum".

As it stands, we're still in the cave; about to enter the second leg of the pilgrimage. It has been a tough journey for far, and I'm sure it won't get any easier as we progress.

**Twenty Sixth Evening Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

Harkon is dead and the prophecy has been averted. Our labours in the falmeri realm were as difficult as could be expected. Little of true interest occurred however, that said, I came across what appeared to be a falmer town or city. It was a remarkable structure, and I feel that we think them far less intelligent than they are; a sentiment which Gelebor, the ancient falmer echoed.

Once we had acquired Auri-El's Bow and returned to castle Volkihar, Harkon was waiting for us. The fight was, naturally, arduous, but Serana and I emerged victorious, due only, I feel, to there being two of us. Serana has left the keep to the steward and has opted, with my permission, to travel with me for a while. I feel that this is a coupling that could do many a thing for Skyrim.

**Tenth Morning Star, Two Hundredth and First ****Year of the Fourth Era**

Serana and I were attacked by a pair of cultists in Riften. According to their orders, they were sent to kill the "false dragonborn" in the name of one Miraak.

I don't appreciate being referred to as a false dragonborn, nor being attacked. We're travelling to where my assailants came from, Solstheim. I believe it is now controlled by Morrowind. Granted, it's not the old mainland (as though there's much of that left), but it will be interesting to walk among my kinsmen again, after so long. I almost find the notion of being called an N'wah entertaining.

This Miraak should pose no threat.

**Eleventh Morning Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

This Miraak is no mere cult leader. He is true dragonborn, as I am; from what I can piece together, he was a dragon priest long ago, and turned on his masters when he decided his powers rivalled theirs. After being proven wrong, he retreated into Hermaeus Mora's realm.

Regardless, the notion of another dragonborn is a worrying one; if he is half as powerful as me, he has enough power to crush any individual foe. We must either force our way into Miraak's domain, a foolish choice, as he is sure to be powerful there; or force him out. Alternatively we could allow him to move into Tamriel of his own accord, although he's almost certainly marshalling power.

I'm on my way to learn a word of power that a local nord seems to believe holds to key to following Miraak's path, which should in of itself allow me to find a way to defeat him.

**Twelfth Morning Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Era**

The daedroth at work here is Hermaeus Mora, as I had suspected. I still do not know what manner of deal he and Miraak struck, but I don't need to.

I know a word of power that can be used to bend the will of creatures to my own. It would appear as though Miraak's influence extends beyond Apocrypha through obelisks, by bending them to my will rather than allowing them to fester under his; I can weaken his hold over the people on this land.

I am, however unsure if this is a venture worth pursuing. I do not care for slowing Miraak's progress as I do for killing him outright. The time I spend travelling to these stones may be better spent hunting down a direct path to him. We shall see, I've been told that I should report to a fellow dunmer mage, for information pertaining to the black books that seem to be talismans of the bond between Mora and Miraak.

**Thirteenth Morning Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth Year**

I have made direct contact with Hermaeus Mora, and he has granted me the second word of power that I require to "surpass" Miraak. He has offered to grant me the third in exchange for the secrets of the Skaal, the Nordic people of Solstheim. I may loathe the idea of striking a deal with a daedroth, especially one such as Mora, but needs must.

There must, however, be a reason this knowledge has eluded Mora for so long. I'm sure these people's superstitions will pose a serious problem.

As I had expected, the Skaal consider Mora their enemy. I've been asked to tend to the obelisks so that they'd be willing to give up their secrets. Time is wasting; it is a good thing that Solstheim is such a small island. Serana and I can make the journey from northernmost tip to southernmost peninsula is less than a day, at a constant jog.

**Fourteenth Morning Star, Two Hundredth and First Year of the Fourth**

Miraak is dead. The battle was as I had expected, he insisted on gloating and relied on absorbing the lives of his dragon servants to hold a candle to me.

Hermaeus Mora seems to believe that I now serve him; quite how he has arrived at this conclusion eludes me, but he has. It matters not. For him to exert any kind of control over me I would have to either perish, or enter his realm; I have no intention of doing either.

That said, what should occur in the event of my death is a mystery. Perhaps I would find myself back in the Shivering Isles? Perhaps Akatosh will claim me, given that I am dragonborn.


End file.
